“Not smart,” he hissed, letting Basel see his reaction for just a moment before drawing his features neutral and returning his attention to the girl.
“Why not?” Basel asked.
“Tek-Yen,” Reed said, ignoring the question, “tell me, what happens if someone gets picked up and doesn’t come back?”
Horror instantly appeared on the girl’s face as she reached out and clutched the side of the table, looking from Basel to Reed before shifting her attention beyond to the others seated nearby.
“No, no,” Reed said, raising his hands, dropping his voice to a placating tone, “you’re safe, we won’t harm you or take you anywhere. I’m just asking.”
For a moment the look remained in place, Tek-Yen shifting in her seat before glancing between them. “They tell us all, if somebody disappears, the others will be punished. Very badly.”
The words came out a bit stilted, heavily accented. It was apparent that English was not her first language, that she was still quite uncomfortable with it, but learning.
“Earlier today, they tell us that our families too...”
There she stopped, her face welling as if she might cry, the young girl somehow managing to stop just short of it.
“That’s why,” Reed said, again casting a glance to Basel. Any chance there might have been of getting the girl out tonight was now gone for fear of anybody else being killed.
Reed had spent most of the afternoon wrestling with the question of how Bethanee had been able to arrange the previous meeting with Tek-Yen and Basel, the answer seeming so obvious once it finally came to him.
With an operation as large as it sounded like this one was, it would be impossible to keep a vigil over everybody at all times, especially given how many of them earned their keep. In the stead of constant surveillance they employed fear, knowing the girls would be paralyzed into being complicit if they truly believed their friends or family would be punished for the slightest misstep.
Before he could voice any of that the waitress returned, depositing a sandwich and fries in front of Basel and a bowl of soup with a cellophane wrapped package of crackers in front of Tek-Yen.
“Be right up with those burgers,” she said, again disappearing just as fast as she’d arrived.
All three mumbled thanks as Reed tried not to stare at the girl, waiting for her to begin eating before asking, “Tek-Yen, where are you from?”
Pausing with a spoonful of soup held just above the bowl, Tek-Yen replied, “Guangzhou. It is in China.”
Reed waited for her to complete the bite before asking, “And how long have you been here?”
Her face contorted a bit as she tried to find the right words, Basel working furiously at his food across from her, watching the entire time.
“How you say...two months?” she replied.
“Two months,” Reed said, nodding.
Turning over a shoulder he glanced at the other diner patrons, none within fifteen feet, all seemingly engrossed in their own conversations and meals.
“And how did you come here?”
Twirling her spoon in the soup, Tek-Yen kept her gaze aimed down. For a moment she said nothing, looking as if tears were just beneath the surface.
“Tek-Yen,” Reed said, reaching out and placing a hand on the table beside her, close enough to be reassuring without actually touching her. More than once he had seen girls involved in the sex trade and the effects that contact from an older man, especially one with the same characteristics of people she normally associated with harm, could have.
“You are not in trouble. I only want to know what is going on so I can help.”
A moment passed without reaction, her gaze eventually shifting over to his hand before lifting to look at him. There it remained a long time, as if she were trying to size him up, debating something internally before proceeding.
“My family in China, very poor. A man contacted them, said there was way for me to come to America, to work as nanny, learn English, make lots of money.”
It took everything in Reed’s power not to react as she spoke, the story similar to others he’d heard before. Never had the origin country been China, but it was a similar story to how many young girls got pulled into the life.
“But that’s not what happened?” Reed asked.
This time a single tear appeared, sliding down the length of her cheek. It traversed from her eye to her chin in record time, appearing and disappearing before she even had a chance to wipe it away.
“No,” she whispered. “Instead they...”
Her voice broke as she pulled up short, another tear appearing on the underside of her eye.
“That’s okay,” Reed said, leaving his hand outstretched beside her. “I don’t need to hear that part. I already know.”
While he didn’t know the exact particulars of what this young girl had been through, he knew the general gist of things enough to surmise the likely activities, all of them horrible, especially for someone so young.
“Can you tell me,” he asked, “how many there are?”
“How many?” she asked, a crease appearing between her eyes as she looked at Reed.
“Yes,” Reed replied, “how many other girls just like you?”
“Oh,” she answered, “maybe – I don’t know the word – this many?”
Raising both hands before her she flashed all ten fingers three times, the number higher than Reed anticipated, the answer causing his stomach to clench even tighter.
“And where do you stay?” Reed asked. “Do you all live together?”
“No,” she replied. “I live with three other girls. See some at work at night, only see others couple times, when we all together.”
The answer was what Reed anticipated. By keeping the girls all separated it would make it tougher for police to track them. If one girl such as Tek-Yen was extracted, at most they’d lose a couple of assets, but not the entire group.
It also enabled them to maximize fear amongst the group, knowing that if anybody tried anything, the others would be punished.
“And here you go, sweetie,” the waitress said, again appearing as if from thin air by his side and depositing his food before him. Still hot from the kitchen, there was a layer of grease coating the sandwich and fries, steam rising before him.
“Thank you,” Reed mumbled, already past any semblance of hunger as he sat and thought on what Tek-Yen had said.
When they were done he would need a few minutes with Basel, to ask him how Bethanee had met this girl, why she had chosen to lean on her in particular.
In the meantime, he had a genuine insider sitting before him, a veritable fount of information to work with.
He just had to be sure not to mess it up.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The conversation in total took more than an hour and a half, long enough that Reed eventually got through his double and fries, stepped outside to feed Billie her dinner and let her use the restroom as well, and even got slices of pie for each of the three. Just short of nine it was not-so-subtly suggested that the place would be closing soon, the trio the last people remaining inside as Reed paid the check for the table and sent them on their way with two hundred dollars cash.
Whether it would be sufficient, or if Tek-Yen would ever see any of it herself, he couldn’t be certain, but if it kept them both out of trouble for one more day it was worth it.
Before leaving Reed had established that one more day was all he needed. By the same time the next night he would be making a move, going to extract Tek-Yen and anybody else he could find. The hope was that the strike could be large enough, well enough coordinated, that nobody would get hurt, the girls all taken in unison, the ringleaders of the organization apprehended.
The truncated timetable no doubt meant that some detail would be overlooked, that something small would slip through a crack, but after sitting with Tek-Yen for the better part of the evening there was no way he could let things continue any longer.
Once the initial veneer of shock and fear had faded away the girl had proven herself to be just that – a child. She had spoken in wonder of the Christmas lights that seemed to cover everything, had absolutely fawned over Billie as she tugged on her ears and mussed the hair between them.
In a sack on the seat beside him was a cloth kerchief she’d been carrying, the item sealed up tight, Reed spotting it as they were preparing to leave, a random thought coming to him, prompting the request.
If there was any surprise, any uncertainty from Tek-Yen or Basel at the request they did nothing to show it, seeming to since the genuine emotion he felt toward the situation.
The mere thought of what she was doing every night, of what people with intentions a lot worse than Basel’s were asking of her, repulsed him.
That same rage permeated his being as Reed headed for home, bypassing returning to the precinct one more time, knowing the person he needed to speak with would have finally left for the night. Instead he reached out via phone, putting the call on speaker as he drove.
“Grimes,” the captain responded, his usual extra-gruff tone reserved for phone calls on display.
“Captain,” Reed said, “how fast can you cull together that task force we talked about earlier?”
On the opposite end he could hear a door open and close, the sound of feet shuffling over carpet, before Grimes responded, “What did you find?”
In short order Reed relayed the evening to his boss, starting with what Deek had found and pushing through the encounter with Basel and Tek-Yen. He was sure to share his admonishments for the way the latter had come about, assuring the captain that he had no part in putting together such a venture, before sharing everything the girl had told him.
When he was done Grimes took more than a full minute digesting the information, Reed content to give him all the time he needed. Behind him the lights of Columbus began to fade, his sedan aimed out into the countryside. Overhead a small cluster of stars became visible, the first break in the cloud cover in days.
The smell of greasy food clung to he and Billie both, his partner beginning to pace in the backseat, letting him know that her dinner would soon be making an exit.
Leaning a little harder on the gas, he pushed toward home, ready to be done for the day, happy with what they’d accomplished, anxious for what lay just on the horizon.
“Be a little tough at this time of night,” Grimes said. “You know how slow the agencies can be to get in motion.”
“I figured,” Reed said, despite having not actually considered the notion. “Mid-morning seem reasonable?”
“Probably,” Grimes replied. “I know it’s the holidays, but this sort of thing is big enough to cause a stir.”
“Not to mention, nobody’s going to want to be left out,” Reed said. He left the statement intentionally vague, knowing the captain would grasp that it was intended to refer to every possible outcome, including arrests, media attention, and associated PR.
Taking down things such as international rings involving underage girls had a way of bringing about all three.
“Agreed,” Grimes said. “Let me make some calls. If you don’t hear from me, assume we’re on for ten at the precinct tomorrow.”
“Roger that,” Reed replied.
“I’ll be there to back you up,” Grimes added, “but the floor will be yours. You good with that?”
In quick fashion the images of Bethanee Ing and Tek-Yen Dang both flashed through his mind. “For sure. You mind if we call in McMichaels and Jacobs, maybe Greene and Gilchrist?
“If we’re going to be putting together a strike soon, be good to have some of ours guys on hand as well.”
Both teams were men Reed had worked with extensively in the preceding year, each covering the graveyard shift he spent most of his time on. He knew without consulting them that they would be game for the assignment, McMichaels and Jacobs always looking for additional overtime, Greene a throwback with a strong moral code that had signed on for cases such as this, was fast imparting the same onto his young partner.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Grimes said. “After showing up unannounced at KCBS the way we did, the folks downtown would be livid if we didn’t make sure to get our fair share of any credit that comes out of this.”
Without another word he signed off to begin making calls, Reed not envious of the night he had ahead of him.
The comment about atoning for any potential gaffe at KCBS was not something Reed had considered, though it did make sense. The look on Dade’s face at his arrival had bordered on horrified, making it very clear that media relations were something that was to be carefully handled at all times.
Now that they had committed a potential faux pas it would be important for them to overcorrect, to ensure good standing in the court of public opinion.
The thought brought a bitter taste to Reed’s mouth, that something as terrible as what Tek-Yen had described needed to be played for PR. It remained there as he covered the last few miles to home, pulling up beside his truck on the gravel drive and opening the back door. In a flash Billie was through it and into the backyard, disappearing amongst the shadows as Reed headed for the house.
By the time he arrived back she had already returned to his side, both of them entering to find his parents in the front living room. Seated in the armchair, his father’s attention was aimed at a ballgame on the television, his mother buried beneath a blanket on the couch, a C.J. Box paperback in hand.
“Hey, buddy,” she said upon seeing him. “You’re home early.”
Glancing to the clock above the stove as he passed through the kitchen, Reed saw it was half past nine, hardly what he would consider early. He came to a stop against the doorway leading into the living room, leaning heavily against it as Billie entered the room, walking directly up to the armchair and presenting herself to Rhett.
“Yeah, the person I was meeting with had to get back.”
He didn’t bother mentioning that the young girl was an indentured sex worker or that he had given her a large wad of cash at the end of the evening.
What that would effectively make him, he didn’t care to think about.
“Making any progress?” his father asked, extending the remote toward the television and muting the sound, the exaggerated commentary of the game falling away.
“For sure,” Reed said, nodding slightly. “I guess we’ll find out how much come morning.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
There was a very specific list of things that needed to be done each time a new market was entered. Once the basic analysis of a city was done, determining what the demographic makeup was and if a demand might even exist for their specific product, things such as saturation and clientele had to be considered. From there were notions of expenses, ciphering out the cost of living and doing business, looking at available spaces and what neighborhood layouts afforded them.
Most of that was done back in China, the organization overseeing the bulk of it, having devised a system that they had first honed in countries across Europe, were now applying to the United States.
Once a new city was given the go-ahead, The Businessman had his own list of items that had to be tended to, things that needed to be in place to ensure not only a smooth launch but continued sustainability.
Liquor licensing. Zoning permits.
Making sure to have a contact in local law enforcement that could keep an eye out for them.
When the request first came up from the floor that a customer wished to speak with him, The Businessman pushed it aside. Despite the sleep he had gotten the night before, he was beginning to feel the effects of the previous week. As the clock nudged past midnight his reserves were quickly waning, his thoughts already on closing down for the night, on getting home as quickly as possible.
The second time the guard returned, he delivered a message that was less a request than a thinly veiled ultimatum, The Businessman understanding instantly what was being asked
of him and informing the guard to send them up immediately.
Just one minute later The Businessman was standing in the entry to his office, the door open behind him, a hand outstretched as a middle-aged man with a heavy five o’clock shadow and hound dog eyes approached. Dressed in jeans and a navy blue parka, tufts of hair extended up in various directions from his head, as if the hood had just been pulled down a moment before.
Not exactly inconspicuous, though The Businessman knew better than to comment.
“Carter, my friend,” The Businessman said, bolstering his voice with a joviality he didn’t actually feel.
In response the man just looked at the outstretched hand, his own still balled into the pockets of his coat, before walking on into the office.
“Don’t use my name in here. And we’re not friends.”
The smile fell from The Businessman’s face as he looked to the guard that had escorted Carter up, nodding that he could go.
Waiting just a moment, The Businessman allowed the guard to disappear behind the partition that hid his office from view, pausing longer still until he heard the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs back to the club floor before turning into his office and closing the door behind him.
Selecting Carter Pyle as his contact had been one of the more difficult decisions The Businessman had made since arriving in Columbus. Of the usual suspects - local beat cops, aging detectives – nobody seemed an obvious fit. They were either still young and idealistic or old and close to a guaranteed pension, The Businessman knowing better than to target either, that it would only place him on their radar.
Instead he waited, surveying the local landscape, until he came across Pyle, a bitter mid-level detective going through the final stages of divorce. Whatever lingering sense of duty he might harbor had long since passed, replaced instead by a need for cash and a tendency to stop off at the bar on the way home from work.
Cliché, for sure, but as The Businessman had come to find, they often existed for a reason.
One night after shift the lonely detective had wandered into the club and struck up a conversation with the bartender, mentioning both his profession and the shattered state of his love life. Within hours the information was passed up the line and things put in motion, the amount required to secure Pyle surprisingly small as compared to what had been doled out in other cities.
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